Will You Be My Friend? (9 page)

Beep—beep—beep . . .

But where was that sound coming from? It was driving her crazy!

Dragging herself up to her feet, Beth glanced around. Same overstuffed file cabinets. Same dim light. Same cramped, dusty room. So what was that beeping?

Beth walked slowly to the door.

What happened to that guy who found me here?
she wondered.
Why did he just leave me on the floor? He cleaned up his precious papers but didn't get me any help? And was that Elizabeth shaking the ladder? Did she cause me to fall? But why would she do that? None of this makes any sense.

Reaching the door, Beth turned the knob excruciatingly slowly so no one would hear her. When she felt the latch release, she opened the door just a crack and peeked out. What she saw made even less sense than the beeping sound.

Rather than leading back out to the hallway from which she had entered the records room, this door now opened into a laboratory. Not a science lab in a school, where students did experiments and worked on projects, but more like a mad scientist's lab from an old black-and-white horror movie, with bizarre and pointy medical instruments, tables piled with papers, and vials filled with liquids of all colors.

The mysterious lab appeared to be empty, or at least Beth couldn't hear anyone shuffling about. There was only one way to solve this mystery, and if there was one thing that Beth Picard had had enough of, it was mysteries.

She slowly stepped into the room.

Beep—beep—beep . . .

Maybe something in here is making the noise,
Beth thought.

A series of lab tables sat in rows, and a large spotlight dangled above each one. The tables were cold and stark, bare except for a single thin white sheet on each one.

Lining the outer walls of the room were slate counters. Rising from each counter was a series of coiled glass tubes leading to round glass beakers that rested on the tables. Green, red, and blue liquids bubbled in the beakers; a rainbow mixture coursed through the coils.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Beth muttered to herself. “It looks like they are filming
The Return of the Son of the Bride of Frankenstein's Mother-in-Law
or something like that. This can't be real.”

Beep—beep—beep . . .

Beth continued to wander about the room. In the far corner sat a clear round glass tank full of milky liquid. Electrical cables snaked down from the ceiling and were attached to the sides of the tank. Every few seconds electric charges sparked through the water like lightning flashing through a dark night sky.

Beth approached the tank cautiously. She saw something floating in the murky liquid. It bobbed up to the surface, then sank again.

Beep—beep—beep . . .

Whatever was suspended in the liquid drifted to the surface again. This time it hovered for a moment, then spun around, revealing a tiny face. Ten miniscule fingers broke the surface next.

Beth jumped back from the edge of the tank in horror.

“It's a baby!” she cried, not caring who heard her at this point. “Why did someone put a baby in a tank of liquid? Is it alive?”

She moved back to the edge of the tank, and the baby sank out of view once again.

“Help!” she screamed, her strained voice echoing off the hard surfaces in the lab.

Someone touched Beth on the shoulder. She jumped into the air and spun around, all in one awkward motion.

When she landed, she found herself staring back at herself! Or maybe, just maybe, it was . . .

“Lizzie!” Beth cried. “Lizzie, I found you!”

She threw her arms around Lizzie, hugged her tightly.

And that's when Beth woke up only to find herself hugging a pillow, lying in a hospital bed.

Beep—beep—beep . . .

Beth took stock of her surroundings. She saw an IV dangling from her arm, leading to a machine . . . a machine that went
beep—beep—beep
.

“Try to relax, Beth,” said a woman leaning over her. Beth didn't know the woman, but she guessed from her white coat and the stethoscope hanging around her neck, and the fact that she seemed to be in a hospital, that the woman was a doctor.

“Where am I?” Beth asked. “What happened? Who are you?”

“It's understandable that after an accident like the one you had, you'd be a little confused,” the doctor said. “First thing's first. I'm Dr. Snow. I am in charge of your care here at North Side Hospital. As for what happened, you fell off a ladder at Glenside Middle School, bruised a rib, and hit your head on the floor. Fortunately, a teacher was in the room with you and he called an ambulance.”

Oh, no!
Beth thought.
Not another accident!

As the memory of that afternoon flooded back to Beth, she realized that the laboratory, the floating baby, and the face-to-face with Lizzie were all just a dream. Another strange dream.

“Where's my mom?” Beth asked. She wanted her mother desperately, like a little kid who had just fallen off her bike and scraped her knee, but at the same time she was nervous for her mom's anger at disobeying the rules.

“I'm right here, honey!” called Beth's mom, throwing open the door and rushing into the room. “I got here as soon as I could.”

She brushed past Dr. Snow, and Beth noticed that they exchanged a look that could only be described as uncomfortable. Beth also noticed that her mother looked sad, sadder than she'd ever seen her. Beth felt like bursting into tears. The last thing she had wanted to do was to upset her mother. She only wanted to know the truth.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Beth's mom said gently, stroking Beth's hair.

Maybe I won't get in trouble for sneaking into the school after all,
Beth thought hopefully.

“Everything's a little blurry,” she replied. “It's hard to focus. My side hurts and my head hurts.”

Beth rolled over. “Ow,” she cried, grabbing her side. “I guess I really hurt my rib.”

“More than just your rib, Beth,” said Dr. Snow, handing her a small mirror. Beth turned her head to the side and looked in the mirror. She saw a reddish-purple lump pushing its way out through strands of her hair.

“That is a very nasty bump,” replied Dr. Snow. “But all the scans indicated no severe head trauma, so I think Beth is one lucky young lady.”

“I'm so relieved,” said Beth's mom.

“What I'm wondering, of course, is what she was doing sneaking around a school she doesn't even go to?” Dr. Snow asked, her tone of voice a cross between contempt and disappointment. “I thought you homeschool Beth, Ms. Picard.”

“I do!” Beth's mom shot back defensively. “I spend hours every day teaching Beth. I've devoted my life to her. I have been a strict and attentive parent!”

“Yet, somehow, not strict enough, apparently,” Dr. Snow said softly, the impact of her words a stark contrast to the gentleness of her tone.

Beth stared up at the two women arguing over her. She knew she wasn't quite thinking clearly, but was the doctor actually arguing with her mom about what kind of parent she had been? Was this really the time and place for that kind of conversation?

“It appears to me,” began Dr. Snow, “that it is time for this to come to an end.”

“I want to speak with my daughter alone,” Beth's mom said forcefully.

Dr. Snow turned and stormed out of the room without saying another word.

“What did she mean by that?” Beth asked when her mother had sat down on the edge of her bed. “ ‘It is time for this to come to an end.' ”

Beth's mom looked around the hospital room as if she was trying to avoid answering Beth's question. Finally, she spoke.

“She meant that the conversation we were having was over,” Beth's mom explained. “Although she didn't have to be so rude about it.”

“I thought the same thing,” said Beth, shifting in her bed, trying to get more comfortable. “She was talking to you as if she knew you, and even then, it still would have been pretty rude.”

“Her bedside manner does leave a lot to be desired, but she is a good doctor—or at least that's what I've heard,” said her mom. “You'll be in good hands with Dr. Snow, and anyway, we don't have much of a choice, do we?”

Beth nodded.

“But enough about her,” her mom continued. “Do you want to explain what happened today?”

Beth sighed loudly. She knew that she would never have a better chance to tell her mom how she really felt. The sympathy factor of her being hurt was keeping her mom from getting really upset. It was now or never.

“I needed to know why I have no memories before this year,” Beth began. “Meeting Chrissy, having a great friend like her, it all made it a little easier to forget that my life is a mystery to me.”

Beth watched as tears welled up in her mother's eyes.

“But then I went to Chrissy's for that sleepover and everything changed,” Beth continued. “I met Alice, who immediately thought I was someone named Lizzie. Alice claimed that she looked exactly like me. She was so sure of it, and I just couldn't let that thought go. Then Alice sent me that photo of Lizzie, and there was no denying it—she looked exactly like me.

“I searched every corner of the Internet but could find nothing about Lizzie. Alice told me that she had met her at Glenside Middle School. I knew I had to go there. It was the only place where I could find out the truth.”

Her mother shifted nervously on the bed.

“And, what did you find out?” she asked.

“I found her!” Beth exclaimed triumphantly. “Just before that man came into the records room, I found Lizzie's file. She's real. She did go to Glenside. And her picture was in the file. Front and center. She does look exactly like me!”

Her mother looked away.

“So, no more lies, Mom. When I get out of here, I'm going to find her. And I'll need your help,” Beth continued. “Is she my sister? Why didn't you tell me about Lizzie?”

“I—I only wanted to protect you,” Beth's mom said as the tears began to stream down her face.

“Protect me?” Beth asked in a sharper tone than she would have liked. “From what?”

The door to Beth's room swung open and Dr. Snow walked in, moving at a determined pace.

“I'm sorry,” she said curtly, without a hint of sorrow in her voice. “Visiting hours are over. Our patients need their rest.”

Beth's mom stood up slowly.

“Mom, wait!” cried Beth. “What were you trying to protect me from?”

“I tried,” her mom said, wiping the tears off her face. “I tried so hard to give you a normal life. And I did. This past year was wonderful. I'm glad we had it together.”

“What do you mean?” asked Beth. “Of course you gave me a normal life. What are you talking about? And we'll have a lot more wonderful, normal years together too. I'm not dying. I just bumped my head.”

“See you, honey. I love you,” Beth's mom said sadly. Then she turned and hurried from the room.

Beth turned to face Dr. Snow. “What was that all about?

“I see it all the time,” Dr. Snow replied. “Parents get very upset seeing their children in a hospital bed.”

“I've never seen my mom so upset,” Beth admitted. “How long do I have to stay here?”

“I want to keep you tonight, just to make sure your rib is healing properly and to make sure that bump on your head didn't shake you up more than it appears to have done,” explained Dr. Snow. “You should go home tomorrow, but let's just play it one day at a time, okay?”

Dr. Snow smiled at Beth for the first time. Then she turned and left the room.

Later that night Beth lay in her bed, in the dark, staring up at the stained ceiling tiles. The deep silence of the hospital was punctuated by occasional beeping or buzzing sounds, the ringing of phones, or soft footsteps padding down the hallway.

This is about the loneliest I think I've ever felt,
thought Beth.
But that's not even the biggest part of it. I'm really missing Mom. It's like I just found out that she has to leave the country for a few years and is going to a place that has no phones or Internet.

Yet it was just a feeling; her mother hadn't actually said good-bye, but Beth still felt this intense yearning for her mom.

Turning her head, she glanced over at the clock: 11:34 p.m. She tried to roll over onto her side, but a sharp, stabbing pain in her rib stopped her, sending her right over onto her back again.

The pain in her rib seemed to trigger a nagging pain in her skull, not really a headache, but a dull throbbing. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. Finally, after what felt like hours, she drifted off into a fitful, restless sleep.

When her eyes reopened, the fog in her brain had cleared a bit. Beth looked at the clock again: 3:12 a.m. After a few more minutes of staring at the ceiling, Beth reached over and grabbed the controller that operated the bed. Pressing a button, she raised her head until she was in a sitting position, then turned on the light above her bed and grabbed a magazine from the small table beside her.